


Restitution

by Rubylove



Category: Best Song Ever - One Direction (Music Video), One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-09
Updated: 2014-02-09
Packaged: 2018-01-11 17:24:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1175807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rubylove/pseuds/Rubylove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For butterscotchlou because of the following post: ”where’s the oneshot that takes place at the end of the music video after they’ve trashed the place and marcel is really upset and crying and louis comes up to him like ‘i’m sorry i really did like your presentation and i think you’re really cute.’ and take it from there however you want.”</p><p>This is an approximate rendition.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Restitution

When the dust has cleared and the paper has settled and all the staff have begun trying to salvage their workstations, One Direction make their exit. Niall finds Leeroy pouting in the atrium and stops to give him a hug, which seems to mollify him a bit, but Liam and Zayn are riding out the tail end of their adrenaline high in their own little bubble of giggles and arms around each other, oblivious to the rest of the world. Harry, first to the exit with his perfect arrogant slouch, has just triggered the automatic door when Louis spots Marcel half-hidden behind some fake plants, watching them go. He looks miserable, and Louis' heart gives a little twinge. 

"Hazza," he calls. Harry pauses and turns his ear back toward Louis. "Hold the car a sec for me, will you?" 

Harry turns his head far enough to meet Louis' eye then and smiles, nodding once, before going out into the punishing California sunlight. The others trail him out and Louis goes over to where Marcel is hiding. 

Marcel drops his head and shrinks further behind the fern as Louis approaches, and Louis feels awful suddenly, like he's kicked a kitten whilst dancing and only just realised it. They've already arranged to compensate the office for the damage and the lost work time, but it belatedly occurs to Louis that some kinds of damage can't be mended by throwing money at them. 

"Look," he says, and then stops, because he doesn't actually know what to say here. 

Marcel continues to look miserable and shuffles awkwardly, eyes trained on the tastefully patterned carpet. It occurs to Louis that there's a very basic protocol to be followed right now. 

"I'm sorry," he says. Marcel stills. Slowly, he raises his face until he's looking at Louis. 

"You're sorry," he says flatly, and it's very hard to tell if he's disbelieving of the apology itself or of the notion that it's going to fix anything. 

" _Really_ sorry," says Louis, trying to let it show on his face how much he means it. "We ruined your presentation and shot down everything you pitched and you were just doing your job. Doing it really well, too," he adds without thinking, because it was actually a good presentation, and they were complete pricks to Marcel but he just rolled with it and stayed professional the whole time. Unlike the band, who acted like spoilt hooligans. Which was sort of the point, but Louis' feeling a little embarrassed about the whole thing. Marcel can't be much older than him; up close like this, his face is smooth and unlined behind those huge glasses. The bridge of his specs has been mended with tape and Louis thinks, _He probably really needs this job._  

Shit. 

"Did we, erm," he says. Marcel's silent, just waiting him out, staring him down with huge lovely eyes, and Louis is feeling more and more like a world-class arsehole. "Will you get in trouble because of us?" 

Marcel shakes his head, twitching one shoulder. "I dunno," he says quietly, and his fingers start twisting together. 

"You shouldn't, it's not your fault nobody prepped you about us properly. I'll talk to someone," Louis promises, but Marcel shakes his head again. 

"That's not your responsibility," he says. There's a moment in which his face softens a bit out of its careful neutrality. "But thanks for offering. I... you don't need to feel sorry for me." He tries out a smile. It comes out crooked. "I'm not the first person who ever had to deal with a reality check." 

"I don't feel _sorry_ for you," Louis bursts out. "Like, this isn't pity, this is me trying to make up for us being absolute shits and ruining your day. You're a _fan_ , for god's sake. Or you were," he amends. "God knows what you must think of us now. We're sort of awful people sometimes." He usually takes pride in that, in not conforming to the standard squeaky clean boy band image, but it doesn't seem like much to be proud of at the moment. 

"You sort of are," Marcel agrees, but when Louis steals an astonished look, he's smiling for real, just a small relaxed thing, and it's kind of gorgeous. "You boys do have quite a reputation, for all you're so cute. I really should have known better." 

Louis can _feel_ his face melting into the expression it makes when he's completely charmed. He is utterly powerless to prevent it. "Oh my god, please stop taking the blame for this and let me make it up to you." 

"I accept your apology. There, made up." 

"That is _not what I meant._ " Louis takes a tiny step closer, deliberately popping his hip out, flicking his fringe to the side and looking up at Marcel. "Listen. Okay. If you want to let it go, I'm not gonna complain about you being the, er, bigger man," he smirks, and Marcel colours slightly. _Yes._ "But look. I think you're really cute, and I would really like to take you out sometime, so could I get your number?" He slides his phone out of his back pocket and holds it up between them. "Please," he adds, because he's _got_ manners even if he seldom uses them anymore. 

Marcel hesitates. Louis can _see_ the thought process going on behind his eyes, and it stabs him right in the heart, because people like Marcel end up not trusting things like this because of what people like Louis did to them in school. 

"I'm not joking with you," he says, a little more quietly, as sincerely as he can. "I really mean it." He quickly opens up a new contact form and holds his phone out to Marcel. 

There's another brief moment of hesitation before Marcel seems to come to a decision. He takes the phone and inputs his information rapidly and efficiently, because of course he types like a fiend, then hands it back to Louis. Louis grins and sends a quick text, _hey, this is louis._  

"And now you have my number," he says as Marcel's phone buzzes in his pocket. 

A car horn honks at the entrance, and Louis looks to see that their driver has pulled up, probably tired of waiting for him. 

"Sorry, I've got to go," he says. "We're here until Monday. I'll text you." 

"It's okay if you don't," Marcel answers, but he's still smiling. 

"No it's not." Louis grins ruefully. "I'd never forgive myself for missing this chance." He's walking backwards, slowly, reluctant to turn away. 

"Get going, you're keeping your friends waiting." Marcel makes a ridiculous shooing motion with his hands and Louis can't stifle his giggle. 

"All right, yeah. See you, Marcel."

"Bye, Louis."

 

~*~

 

 _please tell me we didn't get you fired_ is the first real text Louis sends Marcel. A little selfish, maybe, but he really doesn't want Marcel to lose his job, especially over something so ridiculous. It's Wednesday, the day after the trashed meeting, and Louis figures if it were going to happen it must have happened by now. 

 _You didn't. My job is intact._  

Louis slumps with relief. 

They're booked almost solid through the weekend, but Friday's photoshoot is supposed to finish at 7, so he texts Marcel on Thursday between interviews. 

 _do you have plans on Friday or can i take you to dinner?_  

Ten minutes into the next interview his phone buzzes and he's near useless from the distraction for the remainder of the session. People usually assume Harry's the leader, so he gets most of the questions anyway, but Niall covers for Louis a couple of times when he flounders, losing the thread of a reply. 

As soon as he has the chance he pulls out his phone. 

 _I don't have plans. Dinner would be great. :) What time?_  

"Wow," says Harry right in his ear, "he uses proper sentences in his _text messages_." 

"Attention to detail is an attractive trait," Louis says, belatedly hiding the screen against his chest. "And you're invading my privacy, which is not." 

Harry waves a dismissive hand. "You wanted privacy, you should have joined a different band. Gimme." He grabs at Louis' phone, but Louis is wise to his tricks after almost three years of fending him off and moves it out of reach, twisting his whole body away from Harry's at the same time. 

"No. I am going to text him back and you are going to let me, because you've already sabotaged enough of his life." 

Harry sits back with a wounded expression. 

"Hey, well done getting his number, by the way," says Zayn from the other couch. "I'd like to've had a go with that receptionist bird but I don't think she was too happy with us by the end of things. She was quite fit though." 

"She looked an awful lot like you," points out Liam archly. 

" _I'm_ quite fit," Zayn agrees placidly. Liam snorts and shoves him, and it devolves into a very distracting tussle. 

"Right," says Louis, standing up. "I'm going to the loo." 

"So it's going to be  _that_ kind of texting." Harry waggles his eyebrows. 

"Harold Edward, how very dare you," Louis snips back, too distracted to focus on a decent rebuttal. 

He leaves the room, but doesn't bother actually seeking out the loo. The hall is relatively quiet and empty, enough that he can think. 

 _pick you up at 8? txt me your address. also how do you feel about steak_  

He waits for a couple of minutes, during which time two people pass by without paying him any mind, and Niall returns from wherever he went, his mouth full and a packet of crisps in hand.

"You taking him out then?" Niall asks before re-entering the interview room. 

"Looks that way." Louis tries to bite back a smile but finds he can't, so he just lets it spread across his face. Niall gives him an answering one. 

"Good lad," he pronounces, and pulls open the door. A chorus of _Niall!_ greets him as the door swings shut behind him.

 Louis' phone buzzes. An address, then: 

 _I'm actually a vegetarian._  

Great. 

His phone buzzes again as he's staring at it.

 _That was a joke, sorry. I love steak._  

A familiar helpless fondness sweeps over Louis. 

 _omg. ok. steak it is, i know a good place._  

 _Dress code?_  

 _dunno if they have one, i've never had trouble, just wear what you like._  

 _Okay. I'll see you tomorrow at 8._  

_:)_

 

~*~

 

He plans ahead when he gets dressed in the morning because he probably won't get a chance to get back to the hotel and change, especially if the shoot goes long. He goes with his favourite skinny jeans and the white t-shirt that shows off his tats and his collarbones, plus the denim jacket that's been going everywhere with him lately. There's a taping in the morning and another in the afternoon and then the photoshoot, which means they're styled everywhere they go anyway, so by the time he gets back into his own clothes at 7:23 (because of course the shoot went long) they've barely been worn all day. Which is all to the good, really. 

"Tell him we're sorry we hit him round the head with his own mockups," Liam calls as Louis goes to leave. 

"Shan't," says Louis. "That's the worst apology ever and I refuse to convey it." 

"We can always get his number off your phone and tell him ourselves," Zayn points out. 

"I hate this band," Louis mutters, but Niall gives him a quick squeeze and Harry kisses him on the cheek and he can't keep his scowl on straight. "All right, all right, let me go, boys, I'm going to be late." 

"Be safe," Harry advises with a cheeky wink, and Louis flips him two fingers as he goes out the door. 

The driver gets him to Marcel's just barely on time. It's a nicer neighbourhood than Louis was somehow expecting, and there are flowers in window boxes. When he rings the doorbell, an older woman opens the door. 

"Er," Louis begins, but before he can disclaim that perhaps he's mistaken the address, she leans back into the house to yell. 

"Marcel! Your nice young man is here!" 

"Ma, you don't have to yell, I'm right here," says Marcel's voice, and then Marcel himself comes into view. "Hi," he says, waving awkwardly. He's wearing a tweed jacket over an argyle sweater vest with a _bow tie_ and it's so precious Louis might actually die. 

"You be good to my son, you hear?" says Marcel's mother, and she's only maybe as tall as Louis' shoulder but he would not want to cross her. 

"I will, I promise," he says automatically, just as Marcel says, "You're embarrassing me, Ma, go back to your program, I'll be fine." 

"Embarrassing, he says," she intones, raising her eyes to the ceiling. "And who has a better right than me, I ask? Go on, enjoy yourselves, have a nice time." She directs a smile to Louis, unexpectedly, then disappears back into the house.

 There's a moment as Marcel and Louis stand awkwardly on opposite sides of the threshold. 

"So," says Louis, "you live with your mother?" He almost winces at the awkwardness of the question; he didn't mean for it tocome out judgemental, but it might have done. 

"Yeah, she's not so well these days, and it's expensive to live around here." He shrugs. "If you're rethinking this, that's okay." 

" _God_ no," says Louis hastily. "Just a bit surprised, that's all. Shall we go?" 

Marcel's blooming smile is like a soft blow to the sternum. Louis concentrates on breathing as he turns and leads the way to the car. 

When they're almost to the steakhouse, Marcel turns to him earnestly. 

"Listen, if you need to spin this as a business meeting, I'll hold up my end." 

Louis just stares at him for a moment. 

"Don't be ridiculous," he says finally. "Good god. You are amazing." 

Marcel ducks his head. 

"Just trying to be realistic. I'm the marketing guy, remember? I know how things work." 

Louis suddenly and urgently wants to kiss him. 

The car slows, then stops. They've arrived. 

"Thanks, Caleb," Louis calls to the driver. "I'll text you for the pickup." Caleb waves acknowledgement. 

Inside, the steakhouse is nice, but not too classy; formal dining makes Louis uncomfortable. He's made a reservation, and the hostess takes him to a corner booth as he requested. 

"Are you more of a wine person or a beer person?" Louis asks as they settle in with their menus. 

"Neither, actually. I don't really drink much," Marcel admits, looking almost guilty. 

"Liam used not to as well. D'you mind if I have a beer, then?" 

Marcel shakes his head. 

"Of course not. I'm not your mother." 

Louis can't help the small _ha_ that slips out at that. He claps his hand over his mouth, but Marcel grins, so everything is fine. 

They order drinks, and they order food, and Louis finds out that Marcel grew up in New Jersey but moved to California for school. 

"How did your mum end up out here, then?" Louis asks as the waitress delivers their steaks. 

"Well, my dad owned a deli, but he died a few years ago, and with her sciatica she couldn't really manage the place alone, so she sold it and came out here to live with me a couple of years ago when I finished school. And then I got this job, so I can help her out properly now instead of just living in her house like a bum." He looks proud. 

As he should, Louis realizes. If he's only been with the company for two years- "You must be _really good_ if they gave you our project." 

Marcel shrugs and cuts into his steak, but he's got a smug little smirk at the corner of his mouth. Louis wants to bite it. He looks down at his own plate just to gather himself. 

"I'm sorry about your father," he says belatedly. "That must have been shitty." 

"Thanks. Yeah. It was pretty bad for my sisters especially, because they still lived there and they had to watch him go through it. Cancer," Marcel elaborates, answering Louis' unspoken question. "Pancreatic. It was fast." 

"God. I'm so sorry." 

"We're doing okay." Marcel clears his throat. "So tell me about your family. I know you have four sisters, how are they all doing? How's your mother?" 

Louis bites his lip, trying and failing to contain a smile. "You really are a fan, aren't you." 

"A huge fan, I told you before. I wouldn't lie about that." Marcel grins back. "Tell me about them. It must be hard not seeing them often." 

"It is, yeah." Talking about his family is the next best thing to talking _to_ them, and before he knows it they're through with their meals and Louis is still talking about Lottie's new boyfriend and the twins' grades. He stops himself as their plates are cleared. "We're getting dessert, yeah?" 

"Yes, please," Marcel says. "I could go for something chocolate right about now." 

They order - Marcel gets the lava cake; Louis decides on the caramel sundae - and Louis says, "You said you had sisters, right? How many?" 

"Just two. Sarah's 21, she's at school in Boston, and Desiree's the oldest, she's 26 and she works for the paper in Atlantic City. I have to tell you, I never would have thought she'd end up a journalist; she couldn't spell worth a darn in grade school." 

There's an expression of adoration on Marcel's face when he talks about his sisters; Louis could watch him indefinitely. His glasses start to slip down his nose at one point and he scrunches up his face trying to adjust them before giving in and pushing them up with one finger. 

By the end of dessert Louis isn't sure whether he wants to give him a hug or take him to bed. He thinks he'd be okay with either, as long as it made Marcel happy. 

Louis delays asking for the bill as long as he can, but at 10:30 he's texting Caleb to come pick them up. 

It's easy talking to Marcel, is the thing. Louis felt sorry for how they'd treated him, back at the office, and he admired his work ethic and his intelligence, and there was something really attractive about his awkwardness. Now that they're just people spending time together outside of work, though, Louis really, honestly likes him. They're waiting on the sidewalk for the car to arrive and Louis almost doesn't even care what the conversation is about; he just wants to keep listening to Marcel talking sincerely about anything at all. 

It feels like almost no time passes before Caleb arrives with the car. Louis opens the door for Marcel, who laughs in his face and then thanks him sweetly, and they continue their conversation throughout the short drive back to Marcel's house. 

"Let me walk you to the door," Louis says as they pull up, getting out before Marcel can object. 

It's a short walk to the house. On the doorstep, Marcel turns to face Louis, smiling brilliantly. 

"Louis, I had a really good time tonight. I'd invite you in for coffee or something but my mother's asleep already and I don't think it would be fair to your driver." 

Louis can't help smiling back. It's his dopiest smile, he knows it is, and he doesn't care at all.

 "That's okay. Thanks for coming out with me. I wouldn't have blamed you if you'd refused on principle."

 "Are you kidding? I'm your biggest fan. I can forgive a lot." His smile pulls sideways into a smirk again. 

" _God,_ " Louis groans, laughing. "Please let me kiss you."

 "Okay, sure." 

It's possible Marcel thinks he's joking. That would explain the surprised little noise he makes when Louis goes up on his toes and takes Marcel's face in his hands so he can fit their lips together. 

It's brief and soft and Louis wants it back as soon as it's over. So it's good that as he drops back down, Marcel follows him, nosing back into his space for another kiss. It's a little longer, a little more certain, and then Louis pulls back and says, "hang on," and gently pulls off Marcel's glasses before leaning in again. 

Marcel's broad hands find Louis' hips and span them easily. Louis makes a noise he will never admit to in a court of law, wraps his arms around Marcel's neck and opens his mouth. Their tongues meet in a slick tangle and holy shit, Marcel is really, _really_ good at this. One of Marcel's hands slips around to Louis' back, pulling him closer, and Louis hitches his hips forward before he can stop himself. 

The kiss breaks on a gasp, and Louis presses his forehead against Marcel's, eyes shut, just breathing. 

"Was that okay?" He actually sounds uncertain. Louis cannot handle it. He opens his eyes and looks straight into Marcel's, no lenses between them. 

"You're joking, right?" he demands, and presses another kiss to Marcel's mouth. Another turns into yet another, and again, until reluctantly Louis pulls back and rests his forehead on Marcel's shoulder, the tweed of his jacket rough against Louis' skin. Marcel pulls him fully into a hug and he tucks his face into Marcel's neck and hugs him back. 

"I know this isn't going anywhere," Marcel says softly, "but it's been really nice." 

Louis squeezes his eyes shut for a second and says, before he loses his nerve, "Would it be incredibly selfish of me to ask if we can be friends?" 

"What do you need more friends for?" Marcel seems honestly bewildered. Louis pulls back, keeping his arms looped around Marcel's neck. 

"I can use all the real friends I can get," he says pointedly, hoping Marcel will get it. Marcel does, if his shift of expression is anything to go by. "But you don't have to," he says quickly. "I don't want you to feel, like, pressured. I just- really like you." 

"I'm not sure what exactly you want from me." There's a furrow between Marcel's eyebrows. Louis wants to smooth it out.

 "I'm not asking you to save anything for me," Louis hastens to explain. "I'm hardly ever here, that wouldn't be fair, and you barely know me anyway. I just want to be your friend. Text you once in a while, keep in touch. Is that okay?" 

There's a moment of quiet while Marcel thinks about it. Then:

 "Yeah." He smiles, that slow-blooming smile that Louis loves already. "That's just fine. I'll be your friend." 

Louis can't help leaning up for just one more kiss. "I should go," he says, pulling back reluctantly; Marcel's grip moves to his waist, steadying. "Caleb's waiting." He disentangles his arms from around Marcel's neck and offers back his glasses. Marcel lets go slowly, one hand at a time, first taking his glasses, then putting them back on carefully with both hands. 

"Okay, then. You take care," he says, smiling down at Louis. 

"You too." He puts a careful hand on Marcel's lapel, patting once, then turns to go. "Oh." He turns back. "Liam and Zayn are, quote, 'sorry they hit you round the head with your own mockup.' They wanted me to tell you." 

Marcel laughs quietly. "You can tell them I accept their apology too. Like I said, I can forgive a lot." 

Louis shakes his head. "You are something else, Marcel." 

Marcel just smiles. 

Louis heads back down the front walk. When he reaches the car he turns back toward the house. Marcel is still standing on the stoop, watching him go. When Louis turns, he raises a hand in farewell. Louis offers a small wave in return. Only then does Marcel turn toward the door and pull out his key.

 

~*~

 

Harry is in Louis' bed watching television when he gets back to the hotel. 

"Were you planning to stay here until morning if I didn't come back?" Louis asks drily. He's too happy to give it any bite, though, and Harry sits up a bit. 

"Details," he demands. "You know the drill." 

"A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell," Louis says, stripping down to his boxers and climbing in beside Harry. 

"So there was kissing."

 "Shut up, Harry. And turn that off." 

Harry shuts off the TV and snuggles down next to Louis, curling around him automatically. 

"Are you going to try and see him again?" 

Louis shakes his head. "Not exactly. Go to sleep, Haz, 'm tired. We can talk in the morning." 

When he wakes up, he has a text from Marcel. 

 _Good morning, friend. I hope you slept well. :)_  

Harry takes the piss without mercy and Louis doesn't even care. He can't stop smiling for the rest of the day.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was originally posted on Tumblr under the URL [but-red-means-stop](http://but-red-means-stop.tumblr.com/). Come say hi if you want. :D


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